


Plesant Conversations

by sentry (zytican)



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Engineer likes art, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Sicfic, Sort Of, Spy did not expect this, characters to be added as they appear, i dont know how to tag things or use this site
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-06
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-08-19 21:05:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16542239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zytican/pseuds/sentry
Summary: It's a month and a half into RED Team's assembly, and Engineer thinks he knows most of his teammates reasonably well. That is, until a chance conversation with Spy reveals that the two have more in common than either of them thought. (Because, let's be honest, neither thought they had anything in common with the other to begin with).





	Plesant Conversations

It’s not surprising that Engineer and Medic become friends within a week of RED Team’s formation. Their shared passion for science (and shared disregard for ethics) meant that they could always find something to talk about. When one Saturday finds them playing a casual game of poker in the medbay along with the team’s Heavy, it’s not an unusual start to the weekend. The poker is slightly less usual than chess, but after Heavy’s winning streak hit three dozen matches in a row, Medic abruptly declared that it was time to play cards, instead, and since it was something all three of them could actually play at once, there wasn’t any argument.

“Raise,” grins Medic, looking at the other two expectantly.

“Doktor is bluffing,” says Heavy. The Russian’s pile of winnings is currently three times the size of Medic’s, and includes the doctor’s favorite fountain pen.

Medic scowls and gets up from the table.

“While I would love to continue playing, I’ve just remembered that the Spy asked for some stronger painkillers for his cold, and I have yet to deliver them,” he says, making for a cabinet against the far wall and rummaging through it.

“When little Spy came to ask for medicine yesterday, Doktor slammed door on him and called him bastard,” Heavy points out serenely.

Engineer snorts at this. The good doctor had spent an entire day last week complaining to anyone who would listen about how the Spy, in one of his routine snoops through everyone’s personal items, had accidentally stepped on Archimedes while he was napping on the infirmary floor. The squawking and subsequent shouting match could be heard throughout the entire base, and had left Medic and Spy on less than friendly terms. The Texan doubted that a fuming Medic showing up at Spy’s door, even with painkillers, would improve relations between the two, so he stands up from the table as well.

“I know ya don’t actually want to talk to Spy, and ya sure as hell ain’t in the right mood for it now anyway, so why don’t I go ahead and make this delivery for ya?” Engineer says, striding over to Medic and swiping the bottle of painkillers from his hands before he can protest.

“Engineer is right. Doktor will come sit down and breathe,” says Heavy. Medic pulls a face that suggests he’s about ready to dismember everyone present, but his expression softens when Heavy picks up the fountain pen from his earnings pile and holds it out as a peace offering. “Would not really take pen from Doktor. Heavy has many other pens.”

“Fine. Tell Spy I do not want him dead.” sighs Medic, making his way back to the table and taking the pen from Heavy.

“Will do, see y’all later,” grins Engineer as he makes his way out of the medbay. The grin was mostly because he was now safe from losing his nice pair of pliers in the poker game (Medic had been wanting to use them for some ‘old fashioned teeth pulling’), but he’s also glad to have stopped what could have been a nasty fight. He whistles a little tune as he walks.

* * *

 

It occurs to Engineer as he makes his way across the base to the living quarters that he’s never seen what Spy’s room looks like. Granted, people usually use the lounge to hang out instead of their rooms, but he’s seen everyone else’s quarters at least once by now, for one reason or another (“another” here meaning the time Demo and Scout decided to invent cannonball baseball and the resulting projectile blasted through three rooms before Soldier’s cinder block collection stopped it). This isn’t too unusual, he supposes. The Frenchman likes his privacy. Still, he hopes Spy will at least answer the door when he knocks. Medic may be angry at the man, but Engie would hate to see him stay under the weather because of an argument . Having walked down the main hall of the living quarters, Engineer turns the corner to where the Spy’s room is tucked away, and knocks at the door.

At first, there’s no answer. Engie is about to put the pills at the foot of the door and leave when Spy’s raspy voice breaks the silence.

“Scout, for the _last_ time, I don’t have any-” The Frenchman begins to say before Engineer cuts him off.

“It’s jus’ me, Medic gave me some of the good painkillers to give ya,” Engineer says, giving the bottle a shake for emphasis. After a beat he adds, “What’s Scout been botherin’ ya about? I can track ‘em down and sort it out, Lord knows ya ain’t required to put up with ‘em when yer sick.”

The door opens a crack, then all the way as Spy determines that Engineer is the only one present. He looks sickly even with his mask covering most of his face, but his expression turns from apprehensive to relieved when he sees that the bottle being handed to him is, in fact, full of the good painkillers.

“Ah, thank you, I was beginning to wonder if the incident with that foul bird was enough to warrant my death,” says Spy, taking the bottle. “And, if you could get it through Scout’s thick head that my magazine collection does not extend beyond issues of ‘Dapper Cadaver’, I’d be grateful. Medication or not, if I hear the phrase ‘bangin’ hot chicks’ one more time, I may die.”

Engineer can’t help but chuckle at the mental image of the Scout pestering Spy for dirty magazines, but he nods.

“I reckon I can talk some sense into the fella”, he says. “If he wants magazines he can order ‘em in our next supply shipment.”

Spy gives a slight smile and tilts his head in thanks. That would be the end of the conversation, but before he turns to leave Engineer notices a painting on the far wall of Spy’s room.

“Is that a Degas?” The words are out of Engineers mouth before he even realizes he says them.

Spy blinks. “I would not have taken you for an enthusiast of the arts,” he says in a tone that would be snide if it were anyone else, but for the Frenchman is just conversational. “It’s a replica. The original is part of my private collection, but I would not risk fine art by bringing it to a war zone.”

“Makes sense,” Engineer says, still looking at the dancing figures in the painting. “Degas did some mighty fine work, though I always did prefer Mary Cassatt.” Seeing that Spy is still looking at him as if he’s grown a second head, he adds, “Ya don’t get eleven PhDs without takin’ at least one art history class. I took more than one, mind you. Mostly liked learnin’ about sculpture but paintin’s nice too.”

Spy looks Engineer in the eyes in a way that suggests he’s never actually seen the man before.

“Well. I’m glad someone besides me here has at least _some_ culture,” he says, and it’s the first time Engineer has heard him not sound at least a little bit irritated.  “And, thank you again. For the pills and talking to Scout both.”

“Aw, weren’t nothing,” says Engie with a smile. “See ya ‘round, then?”

“Indeed,” replies Spy. Then, before Engineer can turn to leave, he says, “It seems to me that we should converse more often. Feel free to call in on me sometime when I am not ill.”

 _Huh_. That’s not something Engineer expected to hear today, not by a long shot. It’s also not something he would have expected to make his chest feel the way it does, but he brushes that thought aside. Likely he’s just happy about the prospect of befriending the least social member of the team, something no one else has quite managed yet.

Still, as he tells the Frenchman that he’s likewise welcome to visit the workshop whenever he wants, his smile has become a full on grin, and it stays that way as he walks back down the hall.

* * *

When Engineer gets back to the infirmary, Heavy and Medic are chatting happily, poker game forgotten.

"Spy says thanks for th' meds," he says, sticking his head through the doorway. Medic narrows his eyes.

"He actually said thank you? I'm sure I've never heard _that_ from him before, what did you do?" asks the doctor.

"Well, I reckon we just had some pleasant conversation, that's all," grins Engineer. Judging by the look on Medic's face as Engie swings the door back shut and goes to make lunch, he's gonna have to tell the doctor the entire story later. Just so long as it's not over a game of poker.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I've written single paragraph things once or twice but this is the first time in my life I've written a fic that could be considered complete so. comments appreciated. I have no clue what I'm doing and need any guidance you can throw at me  
> Also if you're wondering where the hell Engie's art knowledge is coming from, read the official comic "Loose Cannon".


End file.
